
VERSES 



L,LA\iU\ 



CD NASH 





Ctes. 



K. 



VERSES 



VEESES 



BY CLARA HAPGOOD NASH 



SELECTIONS 

FROM POEMS PUBLISHED FROM TIME TO TIME 
IN VARIOUS PERIODICALS 




CAMBRIDGE 
MCMIX 



T5 3o^2 7 

.A43V4- 



Copyright, 1909 
By Clara Hapgood Nash 



2 4 3 r^ 1 9 



maVEBSITT PBK8S, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. 






TO 
THE MEMORY OF 

JHS JHotljer 

MES. MAEY ANN HOSMER HAPGOOD 

THIS VOLUME 
IS MOST AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Mother 1 

Under the Elms 3 

Eight Decades 5 

Quatrain — Music 7 

The Young Soldier 8 

Little Annie^s Eeply 9 

Afterwards 11 

Deacon James Madison Brown 12 

The Trio 13 

Neal Dow. On his Ninety-third Birthday . . 14 

Not for Thyself Alone 15 

Rev. Isaac Case Knowlton, D.D 16 

The Wedding Celebration 18 

May 22 

"Sister, I must Go^^ 24 

Song in Death 26 

Welcome to the Massachusetts Sixth .... 28 

Elma 29 

Anemones 31 

The Golden Wedding 32 

Hymn — Ordination 38 

Mary Alice Blanch ard 39 



[ ^i» ] 

PAGE 

Woman's Work 41 

Sixty Years 45 

Frances E. Willard, ^' World's White-Kibbon 

Leader'' 54 

Thanksgiving 55 

Our Physician 56 

Hymn — Dedication 58 

The Eightieth Birthday 59 

Easter 61 

Etta 62 

Bluets 64 

The Young Mother 65 

The Falling Star 67 

March 68 

Helen 70 

PuSSY-WlLLOWS 72 

A Memorial Tribute 73 

Higher and Higher 75 

The Shadbush 76 

Pines of the Old Homestead 77 

The Citizens' Library 79 

Acton's Memorial Library 82 

Beautiful Eighty-three- 88 

Life's Experience ,. 90 

Notes 93 



VERSES 



VERSES 

MOTHER 

When life is young, and words are new, 

Surpassing every other, 
The dearest word among the few 

So softly lisped is " mother." 

And mother's eye, a mirror bright, 

Reflects our all of pleasure ; 
And ever to her watchful sight 

Is brought our dearest treasure. 

'T is mother soothes the troubled heart, 
And speaks a glad to-morrow ; 

So checks the tear-drop at its start. 
And lightens every sorrow. 

But time rolls on, years come apace. 
Behind is left sweet childhood, 

And yet no dearer sound we trace 
In city or in wild- wood. 

Whatever our life, where'er we roam, 

Her love forsakes us never. 
Bereft of her, the light of home 

Is wrapped in cloud forever. 



[2] 

In childhood, youth, or later age, 
If sickness comes to grieve us, 

We turn to her whose words assuage 
And soothingly relieve us. 

Ah, no ! there never comes a time 
We need not her caressing. 

If gay or sad, in every clime, 
We yearn still for her blessing. 

So, whether we are old or young, 
From one age to another, 

The sweetest word in every tongue 
Remains, unchanging, "mother." 



[3] 



UNDER THE ELMS 

Under the elms at grandmamma's, 
Where the merry zephyrs play, 

And many a bird 

Is cheerily heard 
Through the long, bright, summer day. 

Under the elms at grandmamma's, 
So protecting and tall and staunch, 

Where the oriole sings 

As he daintily swings 
In his nest, at the end of a branch. 

Under the elms at grandmamma's, 
This songster of golden hue 

Is sure to appear 

In May every year. 
As the apple-blooms burst into view. 

Under the elms at grandmamma's, 
Where the herds upon yonder hill 

So peacefully graze 

Through the bright, happy days. 
At night-fall returning at will. 



[4] 

Under the elms at grandmamma's, 
With the murmuring brook in view, 

With its silvery light 

In the sunshine bright, 
Meandering the meadow through. 

Under the elms at grandmamma's. 
Where grandpapa used to be, 

With his love-lit eye 

Like the blue of the sky. 
But which beamed, alas ! never on me. 

Under the elms at grandmamma's. 
Where the buttercups gleam in their gold, 

And the violets sweet 

The anemones greet 
As the Spring's richest beauties unfold. 

Under the elms at grandmamma's. 

Oh ! 't is there we joy to stay. 
For the love that is there 
And the blessing and prayer 

That fall from her lips every day. 



[5] 



EIGHT DECADES 

Flowers for the gladdened, 

Flowers for the gay, 
Flowers for the saddened. 

New hope to convey. 
Flowers are like star gems 

Over life's way, 
A flower for each decade 

I bring thee to-day. 

Ten times one. 
A rosy girl, brimful of fun, 
The rosebud age, so well begun. 

Ten times two. 
A happy, hopeful bride we view, 
An age whose innate charms disclose 
A sweetness like this pure, white rose. 

Ten times three. 
Care and toil and love we see 
And merry children's winsome glee. 

Ten times four. 
Three children ope the mystic door 
And pass beyond — to come no more. 



[6] 

Ten times five. 
Lo ! how swift the years arrive. 

Ten times six. 
Weal and woe that always mix. 

Seven times ten. 
The husband and two sons — young men — 
Borne hence — and life seems crushed again. 

Ten times eight. 
Life's duties met, both small and great. 
Its lasting honors round thee wait, 
And thus is found life's best estate. 



[7] 
QUATRAIN 

MUSIC 

Art of all arts, with powers of magic fraught, 
Inspiring joy, or soothing grief profound, 

Until the soul, to blissful vision wrought. 
Sails into ecstasy on waves of sound. 



[8] 



THE YOUNG SOLDIER 

[Suggested bj tlie reception of a twig from the evergreen tree 
at his grave.] 

Thou guardian tree ! wave gently, gently wave 
Above the soldier's lone, untimely grave ; 
Let southern zephyrs through thy boughs wide- 
spread 
Soft dirges play above the cherished dead. 

Sleep, soldier, sleep ! no more disturbed, distressed, 
No war cry more shall wake thy peaceful rest. 
Brave soldier, dying in the deadly strife 
To save, alas ! a stricken country's life. 

Pause, stranger, as you pass this bright, green tree, 
Weep pitying tears when this low mound you see, 
And mark the sacred spot of his repose 
With richest praise true patriotism knows. 

Ah ! noble boy ! for boy thou wert indeed. 
We crown thy work with honor's highest meed. 
Thou gav'st thy life, rich boon, without a sigh ; 
'T is sweet — nay, more — angelic thus to die. 

Wave, gently wave, thou precious guardian tree,' 
And as rich laurels let thy leaflets be. 
To speak the hallowed worth and lasting fame 
That cluster round the fallen patriot's name. 



[9] 



LITTLE ANNIE'S REPLY 

" Say, whom do you love, little Annie ? " I said, 
As I stroked the soft curls of her bright, sunny head ; 
A smile wreathed her lips as with tone soft and mild, 
" There are none but / love!' said the sweet, thought- 
ful child. 

Amazed at the answer, the question I pressed; 

" True, Annie," I said, " but whom love you the best? " 

The same happy look as before, I descried ; 

" There are none but I love, — I love all^' she replied. 

" But have you no choice, little angel ? " I thought. 
As still with more ardor, the answer I sought ; 
But gently there came the response as before, 
" There are none but I love ! " I could gain nothing 
more. 

Sweet spirit, I mused, from the regions above. 
To light the dark ways with thy mission of love ; 
Oh, would that each heart could respond to thine own, 
How little of sorrow and strife would be known 1 

But the casket was frail and the bright jewel fled; 
The angels had called her ; sweet Annie was dead. 
How sadly we laid the fond treasure to rest, 
While her voice seemed to echo, " I love all the best." 



[10] 

Oh, the love and the sunshine her short life displayed ! 
What vastness of import her answer portrayed ! 
That answer, — God grant from each lip it may fall, — 
" There are none but I love, — I love one and all." 



[11] 

AFTERWARDS 

After the snow of winter 

Long o'er the flowers has lain. 
After the storm-king's terrors 

Have swept o'er hill and plain, 
After the angry waters 

Have tided back in peace, 
After the days of shortness 

Whose twilights quickly cease, 

After the roughened landscape 

Escapes the rule of March, 
After the clouds of April 

Have swept from the bright blue arch, 
After the new-found sap-life 

Through trees has pulsed its way. 
Under the breath of springtime 

Comes forth the gorgeous May. 

So, when the day of carnage 

Has wrought its bitter doom, 
Forth in an endless triumph 

Truth shines above the gloom. 
So in the reign of vices 

That pass with baneful tread, 
Fair virtue from the chaos 

Springs up, and they lie dead. 



[12] 



DEACON JAMES MADISON 
BROWN 

1810-1892 

Strong as the oak that resists the blast, 
Fair as the lily in deeds of grace, 

Constant in toil where his lines were cast, 
Patient in life's long race. 

Fervent in spirit, on Zion's hill. 

Watching the dawning of clearer day ; 

Seeking to do but the Master's will. 
Serving in duty's way. 

Aiding the church, that devoted band 
Cherished by him with a heart sincere. 

Ever he gave with a generous hand. 
Ever a word of cheer. 

Over the way that he passed on earth. 
Gather the weft that he wove in gold. 

Honesty, righteousness, highest worth, — 
Legacy rich to hold. 

Folded the hands now in tranquil rest. 
Ended forever earth's care and strife ; 

Gone to the region where joy is blest, — 
Joy in eternal life. 



[13] 



THE TRIO 

Down in the fragrant meadow, 

Beside a sinning brook, 
The clear blue skies reflected 

In every shady nook, 
A child, I stood and listened, 

'Mid flowers and grasses green, 
While birds and bees gave homage 

To June, the summer's queen. 

When, lo ! a sound of music. 

Three voices, reached my^ear, 
In sacred anthems swelling. 

So full, so sweet, so clear. 
Attuned to June's rich chorus, 

Those voices blent as one ; 
All seemed to wake the echo, — 

" On earth is heaven begun." 

Years passed, and I, returning, 

Again this trio sought ; 
But bird and bee and zephyr 

Gave answer, " They are not ; 
Not — save beyond the portal. 

The mystic portal, time. 
They join the higher chorus 

In one immortal chime." 



[14] 
-AMERICA'S GRAND OLD MAN 

GENERAL NEAL DOW' 
1804 MARCH 20, 1897 

Rich with the talents from Nature's hoard, 

Firm as the rock of his rock-bound State, 
True as the steel of his country's sword 

Which he wielded with courage great ; 
Towering aloft like its native pine, 

Standing unmoved amid blast and storm, 
Bringing the grand Maine Law into line. 

In the march of the world's reform. 

^ On Ms ninety-third birthday. 



[15] 



NOT FOR THYSELF ALONE 

Live not for thyself alone ! 

Earth indeed were blest, 
Would but each this motto own, 

And its virtue test. 

Live not for thyself alone ! 

Thousands round thee pine, 
Seeking for some aid unknown, — 

Why not grant them thine ? 

Live not for thyself alone ; 

Swift thy hand to heal ; 
Sorrow in the heart dethrone, 

Changing woe to weal. 

Live not for thyself alone ; 

Rouse to holier thought, 
That thy life at last be shown 

With much good inwrought. 

Leave not life's great noble end 

Unachieved, unknown ; 
Live so every act shall tend 

Not for thyself alone ! 



[16] 
REV. ISAAC CASE KNOWLTON, D.D. 

1819-1894 

Hark to the dirge on the solemn air ! 
Weep, for 't is fit, round the vacant chair ! 
Ache, loving hearts, for the fond caress, 
Yearn for the life that was vront to bless, 
Life, out of sight, o'er the river. 

Mystery of mysteries ! this life of ours. 
Springing in gladness in Eden's bowers. 
Moving so restless, a ceaseless flow; 
Speechless and signless alone we go 
Over yon mystical river. 

Plowers deck its pathway, but thorns group near ; 
Love adds its glory, yet falls its tear ; 
Pageantry glitters and lures, when, lo ! 
Silent and solemn, alone we go 
Over yon heart-breaking river. 

Gayety gives to this stream no glance, 
Health with its roses but looks askance, 
Pleasure's vast canopy seems aglow ; 
Yet, one by one, calm and still, we go 
Over this dark flowing river. 



[17] 

Tokenless ? Yes, for the hand is numb. 
Speechless? Ah ! yes, for the soul is dumb, 
Whelmed in the light of eternal day, 
Whence all the cycles have sped away. 
Dawning just over the river. 

Silence unbroken enfolds the past, 
Chiseled in mem'ry its deeds will last. 
Paith sees in triumph yon light afar. 
Led by the luster of Bethlehem's star, — 
Star, that guides over the river. 



[18] 



THE WEDDING CELEBRATION 

In the mellow days of autumn, in the year of 'forty- 
eight, 

When the early zeal for mining so enriched the 
Golden State, 

In the gorgeous gay October, with its fruit and vint- 
age rife. 

With its softly sighing zephyrs, came a breath of 
human life. 

And it crossed a well-worn threshold, where in many 

years before. 
In successive generations, could be counted Ephraims 

four; 
"So the good old Bible standard," said the father, 

*' we '11 renew " ; 
While the gentle, love-lit tear-drops glistened in his 

eyes of blue. 

As the days and years sped onward, childhoo'd's joys 

sped on apace, — 
Dancing frolics with the chickens and the kittens in 

a chase; 



[19] 

Sporting 'neath the elm's broad shading, gathering 

wild flowers on the hill, 
Wandering through the long, cool grasses, by the 

meadow's purling rill ; 

Hunting hen's eggs in the haymow, searching through 
each hidden nook. 

Catching fish along the margin of the slow, meander- 
ing brook, 

Ranging from the emerald hillside, through the grove 
where star flowers hide. 

Calling home the straying cattle, at the hour of even- 
tide ; 

Swaying from the tree's high branches, toying with 

its topmost leaves, 
Listening to the joyous swallows twittering 'neath the 

barn's low eaves ; 
While his elder brother boldly delves the rugged 

mountain-side. 
Seeking for the shining treasure, found where golden 

metals hide. 

Quickly pass the days of childhood, days of ease and 

joy untold. 
Hours that seem, when past recalling, precious as the 

sands of gold. 



[20] 

Play exchanged for active labor, following out the 

common rule. 
As a youth, he goes to Groton, to the famous 

Lawrence School. 

Next to Brown, Rhode Island's college, in the class 

of 'seventy-four ; 
Afterwards he goes to Newton, seeking theologic 

lore. 
Next he stands at Hymen's altar, where the highest 

conquests wait ; 
Thence he labors as a pastor, in the good Green 

Mountain State. 

Here he tarries and proposes many a plan of future 

cheer, 
Till there comes across the prairie calls to fill another 

sphere ; 
Then with wife and son and daughter, now to fair 

Nebraska's soil 
Move their Lares and Penates, where in earnestness 

they toil. 

'Mid the rolling, wave-like prairies, where the gor- 
geous wild flowers grow, 

Near the Platte of the Missouri, where its sluggish 
waters flow, 



[21] 

By and by there comes a yearning for another happy 
ken 

Of New England's rocky hillsides, and for boyhood's 
scenes again ; 

Por a breeze from old Atlantic, as it breaks along the 
shore, 

And a home among its people as he found in days 
before. 

So they turn their faces eastward, and they wend 
their joyous way 

Back to scenes of fond New England, where we wel- 
come them to-day. 

Though the orange blooms have faded that were fresh 
a decade past. 

Yet their sweetness fondly lingers with a newness 
that will last. 

May they see these decades follow, until five at least 
arrive. 

And they hail their golden wedding, nineteen hun- 
dred twenty-five. 



[22] 



MAY 

Silver-voiced and cbaplet-crowned. 

She comes, the spring's fair queen, 
Spreading, where her steps abound, 

Emeralds of living green. 
Spangled o'er with shining pearls 

From night's starred coronet. 
As the Dawn her light unfurls, — 

Like beaded jewels set. 

Lightly trips she o'er these gems 

In jojousness far-famed ; 
April's lingering frown she stems, 

This regent, goddess named ; ^ 
All the trees in green she drapes, 

With countless flowers amid ; 
Midas-like her touch that shapes 

The gold that waits her bid ; 

Lavishly beneath our feet. 
She spreads it far and wide 

In the golden flowers we meet, 
Agleam on every side ; 

^ May, in honor of the goddess Maia. 



[23] 

Dandelions looking up, 

E'er sunward, clear and bright ; 
Lo ! the chaliced buttercup 

Aflame ^\iih golden light. 

Where the way is drear or lone 
Her cinquefoil creeps to bless, 

Myriad-starred, perchance unknown, 
Its gold it leaves no less ; 

Bluets, golden-eyed, that tell, 
' In circles closely bound. 

Sweet the joys of life that dwell 
TMiere unison is found. 

How she wakes the lyre-strung wood ! 

The sky where soft wings float ; 
Par or near each neighborhood 

Rings with melodious note. 
Golden robin waits her tread 

And, flashing through the blue. 
Greets her richest blooms out-spread 

In grand entrancing view. 



[24 1 



SISTER, I MUST GO 

Listen, sister, hear the war cry, coming sadly to 

reveal 
Our great need of brave exertion for our Country's 

common weal. 
See ! the rebel foe advancing ! how it thrills my 

heart to know. 
How it rouses me to action, telling me that I must go 1 

Father Abraham's voice is calling, echoing wide 

through hill and vale, 
" Seize your armor ! quick, be ready ! with the motto 

' Never fail.' " 
Listen, sister, do not stay me ; do not weep, it grieves 

me so; 
There is danger — haste to quell it ! Yes, I feel that 

I must go. 

Tell me not that I should tarry, that my health can 

ne'er sustain 
All the sorrows, toils, and hardships of the tented 

battle-plain. 
Though 'tis true I'm somewhat slender, few the 

years my age can show, 
Yet in heart I 'm strong and valiant. Gentle sister, 

I must go. 



[25] 

All the health my God hath granted, all the 

strength I 've power to use 
In this hour of greatest trial, surely I will not refuse. 
Onward, in my Country's service ! neither be my 

movements slow. 
Gentle sister, do not stay me, for I feel that I 

must go! 

Think of me, thy soldier brother, think of me at 

morn and eve ; 
Raise a prayer for my safe-keeping, trust in Heaven 

and do not grieve. 
Should some rebel missile meet me, though in death 

it lay me low. 
Then my life is nobly ended. Dearest sister, let 

me go. 

Thou wilt miss me ? Yes, I know it — I shall miss 

thy tone, thy smile; 
Yet in battle their remembrance sweetly shall my 

hours beguile. 
Weep not, sister, I 'd not leave thee, but my Country 

needs me so ; 
Duty calls, and I'm obedient. Farewell, sister, I 

must go. 



[26] 



SONG IN DEATH 

Autumn's chilling winds were sighing, 
Twilight's transient glow had fled, 

As a soldier youth was lying 
Low upon his dying bed. 

Gone were autumn's colors golden. 
Drear its garb of leaden hue ; 

And the dark-winged foe seemed holden, 
Like a spectre, close to view. 

Shadows black and blacker flinging ; 

But his soul, still undismayed 
Burst the gloom, serenely singing, 

" It is I : be not afraid." 

Ah ! that voice in song uplifting, 
Human, still, but yet, divine. 

While the soul was outward drifting — 
Drifting far from mortal line. 

Dark and darker grew the valley. 
Weak and weaker human aid ; 

Still he sang the cheering rally, 
" It is I : be not afraid." 



[27] 

Thus he passed from earthly treasure, 
Deep and deeper in the shade. 

Singing still, in richest measure, 
" It is I : be not afraid." 

Morning dawned, like morning ever, 
But its charms in grief arrayed ; 

Hushed his song in Time's vast Never, 
" It is I : be not afraid." 

Golden gates were open swinging, 
Passed to him life's changing glade ; 

But the echo still is ringing, 
" It is I : be not afraid." 



[28] 



WELCOME TO THE MASSACHU- 
SETTS SIXTH 

Hail, gallant Sixth ! we greet you once again ! 
Thrice welcome home, ye true and valiant men ! 
Proud have ye raised our country's banner high ; 
Firm, by this pennon fair, to stand or die ! 

The post of honor bravely have ye gained ; 

And gaining, nobly, manfully sustained ; 

Quailed not though blood was spilled — how great 

such cost ! 
So must our land be saved, or all is lost. 

Thrice welcome yet again, ye honored brave ! 
Hard have ye toiled to save a country's grave. 
God bless you and your holy cause of right. 
Till error, vanquished, hides in blackest night. 

The demon War shall then forget his race, 
Low in the dust shall hide his shameful face ; 
And Peace triumphant shall assume her reign, 
Sweet requiems sing, above each blood-washed plain. 



[29] 

ELMA 

Another dirge on the solemn air ; 
A tearful gaze at a vacant chair ; 
Another grief, that a dark pall makes 
Over earth's joys, as the fond heart breaks ; 
Another wail for a sweet love fled, — 
Elma is dead. 

Sixteen years of a beautiful life ! 
With gentleness, patience, and kindness rife ; 
Pure as a snowflake, she visited earth, 
Bright as a sunbeam, to lessen its dearth, 
Presh as a rose ere its June life sped, — 
Our Elma, dead. 

Pair as a lily, her young cheek has paled ; 
Sweet as the fragrance the June rose exhaled ; 
Peaceful as twilight she yielded her breath. 
Youth, beauty, gladness, vanished in death ; 
Hushed is her music, gone the light tread 
Of Elma, dead. 

But is she dead ? Lo ! the heart of the rose 
Holds heaven's bright pearl in its sparkling repose ; 
We turn to admire it, behold, 't is not there. 
The dewdrop has vanished in sunshine and air, 
Again to appear, with new glistening grace, 
In change of place. 



[30] 

The chrysalis changes, — the gazing eye 
Beholds its fair tenant flash on through the sky ; 
The grain bursts its sheath, and, lo ! as of old, 
Fields waving in beauty, like rich, burnished gold ; 
Not lost, but transmuted ; new thresholds are crossed, 
Nothing is lost. 

How thin is the curtain hanging between, 
Veiling the present from the vast unseen. 
Earth 's but a speck in the grand universe ; 
Angels beyond us their sweet hymns rehearse. 
Where dwell the living, the " living called dead,'* 
Where she has fled. 

She heard the dip of the mystic oar, 
As it softly pulled from the farther shore ; 
She caught the strain of the heavenly lyre, 
While the scenes and songs of earth retire ; 
O'er the swelling flood she fearless sped, 
She is not dead. 

With mother and sister beyond the tide, 
They beckon us on from the earthward side ; 
With Christ as their Saviour, in joyous song 
Forever they join in the white-robed throng ; 
Ended the sighing, the anguish, the dread, 
Elma not dead. 



[31] 



ANEMONES 

Welcome ! little wind-flowers/ sweet anemones ! 
Lifting heads of whiteness, trembling in the breeze ; 
Frail, but yet courageous, heedless of the frost, 
Drifts of straying snow-flakes, winter s crystals lost. 

By the budding forest, or the wayside lone. 
Dancing with the wood nymphs, though the pine- 
trees moan ; 
Grouped in emerald circles where the violets sleep. 
Nodding them a welcome as they slyly peep ; 

Glistening in the sunshine, billowy waves of light. 
Fairy-like in vesture, sepals pure and white. 
With a rosy veihng, softly tinged, that shows 
Summer's opening vista, while she paints the rose ! 



^ Wind-flowers, so called, because formerly supposed to open only 
when the wind was blowing. 



[32] 



THE GOLDEN WEDDING 

1837-1887 
PART I 

April, with her light and shade 
Flecking meadow, hill and glade, 
Fifty times her role has played. 

Fifty times the violet's eye 
Tinged with azure from the sky 
Waked to see her passing by. 

Fifty times to leafless trees, 
Wafted by the vernal breeze, 
Home returned from Southern leas, 

Birds have trilled their songs of hail, 
Warbling forth their own love's tale. 
Echoing far o'er hill and dale. 

Fifty times the rolling year, 
Tireless, marked in its career 
Fifty cycles round and clear, 

Since your marriage-bell was heard, 
Ah, what symphonies it stirred ! 
Now to memory recurred. 



[33] 

How it rings yet your delight, 

Happy chimes that reunite 

Round the love that knows no blight. 

PART II 

Prom the pleasant town of Dracut, 

Just beyond the Merrimack, 
Came the " Village Blacksmith " hither, 

Only fifty years aback. 
'T was the year of seven and thirty, 

Just the year when England's Queen, 
The accomplished, good Victoria, 

Was proclaimed — at fair eighteen. 

And this tall and dark-eyed suitor, 

With his wise and lofty mien. 
Sought and found his queen, who happened 

Just this year to be eighteen. 
He departed with this maiden 

Leaning on his stalwart arm ; 
She was golden-haired and sunny 

And possessed a royal charm. 

As they sought their home in Roxbury, 

On their happy bridal day, 
Many a carriage in procession 

Journeyed with them on the way. 



[34] 

T was before the day of railroads. 

See this joyful marriage train ! 
Hear the laughter and the singing. 

Breaking out in glad refrain ! 

As they leave the hills of Roxbury, — 

Boston Highlands, now we say — 
Their first treasure, fair Roxanna, 

In their arms they bear away. 
Now they build a house in Bolton 

Where they dwell for many a year, 
Till the growing city, Worcester, 

Offers to them better cheer. 

Here a carriage-smith he labors, 

Prospering by sturdy toil. 
Till at length the busy city 

Has for him too much turmoil. 
So he seeks again the country. 

Buys his wife's paternal home. 
Where his happy sons and daughters 

Widely o'er his fields can roam. 

Now the hum of manufacture 
Tells the town, from day to day, 

WTiat " E. Hall & Sons " are doing. 
In the mill across the way. 



[35] 

And their merchandise is scattered 
North and South and East and West, 

And it finds a welcome landing, 
For 't is sure to be the best. 

And their home is full of kindness, 

Always with the latchstring out, 
As their many friends bear witness. 

From the regions round about. 
In the shadow of the church tower 

With its upward-pointing spire. 
With a silence that yet speaketh. 

Whither tends life's best desire. 

PART III 

With half a century of ripened years. 

Thrown on Hfe's screen. 
With all its hopes and fears, its joys and tears. 

That intervene. 

A picture, weird and changeful, rises up 

Before our eyes. 
Now pleasure sways, now pain with bitter cup 

In dread surprise. 

For, in a world that needs both sun and rain. 

Where shadows fall, 
Life's web, with light and dark in each domain, 

Is wrought for all. 



[36] 

Two little girls amid their childish play, 

Your young life's pride, 
Like buds too choice and frail for open day, 

Drooped, sank, and died. 

And when the din of war throughout the land 

Brought dreaded woe, 
Two stalwart sons with patriot heart and hand 

Arose to go. 

Three years of conflict one survived, unscarred, 

'Mid shot and shell ; 
At Winchester — a battle fierce and hard — 

The younger fell. 

Oh ! with what anguish bowed we o'er his bier. 

The noble dead ; 
A life so young, so worthy, and so dear 

For freedom shed. 

Two daughters, each of her own home the pride. 

Ere life's high noon. 
Dropped their Hght oars and passed beyond the tide, 

Alas ! how soon. 

And yet those voices, hushed to mortal ears, 

Beyond Time's reach. 
Taught by the music of celestial spheres. 

Find perfect speech. 



[37] 

Hail ! fifty years that span the glowing arch 

From youth to age, 
While tireless feet kept pace in steady march 

With duty's gauge; 

While love shone on with brighter, clearer ray. 

Love grows not old ; 
And now you greet along this mystic way 

The year of gold. 

PART IV 

Ring again the wedding bells 1 

List to their chime ! 
'T is no threnody that wells 
From their golden-throated cells 
And no monody that tells 

Regretted time. 
But a melody that swells 

To life's best rhyme. 
With a cadence that foretells 
Of a future wherein dwells 

Life more sublime, 
Waking echoes of repeat. 
Where lost strains in concord meet 
In a unison complete, 
And the day no cloud shall greet, — 

A perfect clime. 



[38] 



HYMN 

ORDINATION 

Father of light, to thee we bow, 

let its quickening glow 
Warm every heart uplifted now, 

True worship to bestow. 

Grant that its pure all-searching rays 

May turn to day our night ; 
Place, as of old, along our ways 

The pillar of thy light. 

Grant that each heart of stone may melt. 
Each stubborn thought unbend ; 

So shall the highest peace be felt — 
The peace that hath no end. 

Thy servant gird with truth alway. 

Thy word may he reveal ; 
Upon these covenants to-day, 

set thy sacred seal ! 

Be thou our trust till time shall close,^ 

Our aid amid the strife. 
Our triumph over death's repose, 

Our pilot on to life. 



[39] 



MARY ALICE BLANCHARD 

1868-1889 

Twenty-one roses 

Over her bier, 
Mound that discloses 

One for each year, 
Blushing in sweetness 

Scarcely half-blown, 
Life's incompleteness 

Touchingly shown. 

Each at day's dawning 

Fair as a gem. 
Late in the morning 

Plucked from the stem ; 
Yet, beautifying, 

Though lost to bloom, 
Breathing while dying 

Sweetest perfume. 

So her life's mission. 

Closing so soon. 
Lost in transition 

Long ere its noon, 



[40] 

Days full of brightness, 
Gladness, and mirth, 

Deeds of uprightness, 
Life of high worth, 

Rising supernal. 

Though lost to time. 
In the eternal 

Waking sublime; 
Casts a bright gleaming 

Back o'er the way, 
Beacon-like beaming, 

Shining for aye. 



[41] 

WOMAN'S WORK 

Beside the sacred stream 

A woman sat and wept. 
What can defeat the king's dread scheme 

Whose edicts all are kept ? 
She rises, builds her child an ark, 
And floats it 'mid the rushes dark. 

Soon royalty draws near. 

The daughter of the king. 
She spies the ark, " Ah ! what is here ? 

Go, maid, the strange craft bring ! " 
" A Hebrew babe ! " her love she gives. 
And Moses, Israel's leader, lives. 

Beneath the palm tree's shade 
Dwelt Deborah on the mount. 

Dispensing judgment undismayed ; 
Her soul was wisdom's fount. 

And Barak's armies, too, she led. 

When, lo ! the boasting warriors fled. 

List to the triumph song 

When parted was the sea ; 
With timbrel moves the dance along, 

Hail, hail to victory ! 



[42] 

In heaven-taught, true, undying lays 
Glad Miriam sings the song of praise. 

Behold in ancient days 

The rock-hewn tomb's stronghold, 
Where first to woman's tearful gaze 

The great stone backward rolled. 
" All hail 1 " a glorious voice is heard, 
The risen Lord's — she brings the word. 

See Britain's heathen bands ! 

How pagan is the scene ! 
Erom Gaul the Christian Bertha lands 

As Aethelberht's fair queen. 
Her coming sifts the pagan dross. 
While Gregory lifts the Holy Cross. 

To India's distant strand 

The false to overthrow. 
What woman first Columbia's land 

Resolved to leave and go. 
And fearless face each heathen scene ? 
The young, the fair Ann Hasseltine ! 

She went with wrong to cope, 

Brave Judson by her side ; 
She rests beneath the tree of Hope,^ 

'Mid earnest work she died. 

^ Hopia tree, called " Hope tree " by Mr. Judson. 



[43] 

Now hundreds follow in her tread ; 
The work moves on she bravely led. 

Miss Herschel sweeps the skies 

With telescopic view, 
When to her gaze new comets rise 

Along the vaulted blue ; 
She solves the problem of the stars, 
And woman's narrow bound unbars. 

By constant care and skill 

Through prejudicial woes. 
By woman's strong, undaunted \\dll 

The woman's college rose. 
To this great need Miss Lyon woke. 
And won for girls Mount Holyoke. 

A voice breaks like a spell. 

To woman it rings clear : 
"Do what you can and do it well ! 

Though out the so-called * sphere.' " 
Despite the mob far rings its tone. 
The silver voice of Lucy Stone. 

Thus women stand to-day 

In pulpit, at the bar. 
In medicine with tender sway. 

Their influence widening far ; 
Old prejudice is scarcely known ; 
Their brave precursor, Lucy Stone. 



[44] 

Hark ! to the voice of power. 

When war its havoc made, 
That won, through many a toilsome hour, 

For dying soldiers, aid ; 
Whose eloquence our land sweeps o'er, 
The voice of Mary Livermore. 

In England great the toil 

Of Lady Somerset. 
On far Armenia's crimson soil, 

With blood of martyrs wet. 
See Clara Barton bearing aid 
Where ruthless sword of Turk has preyed. 

Rrst by the tiny bed 

To catch the infant's sigh, 
And last when comes death's summons dread, 

'T is woman watches nigh. 
Nor is her tender clasp untwined. 
Until an angel's is divined. 

Let woman foremost be 

Heaven's high behest to heed. 
With ready sympathy to see 

Humanity's sore need. 
And, seeing, haste to give redress. 
To right its wrongs, to cheer and bless. 



[45] 
SIXTY YEARS 

1828-1888 
At the Celebration of the Sixtieth Wedding Anniversary 



Sixty times has summer's wealth, 
Golden light and emerald shade, 

Silently, as if by stealth. 
In the lap of fall been laid. 

Sixty times September's sun 
Neared the autumn equinox, 

While the waning days, begun, 
Homeward warn the distant flocks. 

And the cricket's chirping song 

From the hearthstone, low and sweet. 

Signaled harvest-time along 
With its fruitage now complete. 

Sixty times the purling brook 
Laughed amid the alder trees. 

While from many a grassy nook 
Cardinals flamed on every breeze. 



[46] 

Sixty times the golden-rod 
Waved her yellow tassels fine. 

While above the browning sod 
Glowing at September's shrine. 

And the gentian, robed in blue, 
Oped its fringes to the sky, 

Reflex bright of heaven's hue. 

Flower of hope when frosts are nigh. 

Sixty times have heat and cold, 
Joys and sorrows, hopes and fears. 

Interchanging as of old. 

Wrought the cycles we call years. 

Sixty years since first converged. 
Your two pathways into one. 

Love in mutual love submerged. 
Union never more undone. 



Happy in a quiet farmhouse, 
'Mid fair fields of living green, 

With the flocks and herds surrounding, 
Where content charmed every scene, 



[47] 

Dwelt the farmer^s eldest daughter. 
Full of life and joy and health, 

On her cheeks the sweetest rose tinge, 
Stamp of nature's richest wealth. 

Here 'mid every household duty 

Moved she, queen-like, every day. 
Washing, baking, sewing, braiding, 

Willing hands found skillful way. 
And within the ample kitchen 

With its scoured and sanded floor, 
Where the pleasant sunlight falling 

Played around the open door ; 

Where the kettle sang its solos 

Hanging on the ancient crane. 
Dishes gleamed upon the dresser. 

Pewter plates without a stain. 
See her now the white rolls spinning. 

Turning dextrously the wheel. 
Or, perchance, with nimble fingers 

Winding yarn upon the reel. 

Or above the winding stairway 
In the spacious weaving room, 

Watch her as she throws the shuttle 
Sitting there before the loom. 



[48] 

But the maiden's thoughts flit faster, 

Faster than her shuttle flies, 
As there pauses on the doorstep 

One who sees in her a prize. 

'T is the keen-eyed village blacksmith 

From the fair Green Mountain State, 
Lofty browed with glad demeanor, 

Hither led by happy fate. 
Down in yon historic Concord 

Is the home they first engage, 
Town of Hawthorne, too, and Alcott, 

And of Emerson, the Sage. 

But they soon return to Acton, 

To the part now known as West, 
Not a village, as at present, 

Just a corner at the best. 
With the smithy at the crossing. 

And the houses, only two, 
While the quaint, old, wooden schoolhouse 

As their dwelling, met the view. 

For a schoolhouse, the new brick one, 
Had been built across the way. 

Where the children gladly gathered. 
Where the first church stands to-day. 



[49] 

In the smithy rang the music 
Of the anvil, loud and long, 

For the blacksmith's skill was famous. 
And his brawny arm was strong. 

Soon the little wooden schoolhouse 

Answered only for a wing 
To the brick house on the corner ; 

Such success does hard toil bring. 
Thus West Acton came to flourish, 

Thus was laid its corner stone. 
And it grew, as time sped onward. 

Till its present wealth is shown. 

When the iron horse came thundering 

On his strange, new course so nigh. 
How they toiled for track and depot, 

Lest it pass the village by ! 
And they built upon the corner 

The first store to hold the trade, 
Where to-day his son, the youngest. 

Sole proprietor is made. 

Brave he stood in work for temperance 
When the wine cup ruled the hour, 

Both by precept and example 
Sought to stay this evil's power. 



[50] 

And his wife in times of sorrow, 
Though the storm cloud gathered thick, 

Showed great fortitude and courage. 
Bringing joy to all the sick. 



3 



Ring again, wedding bells. 
With a merriment that swells 
To a symphony which tells 

Of the long years' ebb and flow, 
Of the glad years as they go. 
Of the sad years moving slow. 
Wake again your gladdening notes 
From your glistening silver throats, 
While in every sound that floats 
Five and twenty years are pealed. 
And life's fullest tide revealed. 
Fifty years ! O bells of gold. 
What rich wealth your chimes unfold. 
What blest memories are rolled 
Forth upon the listening air ; 
What fond memories and rare ! 
Sixty years, lo ! every twirl 
Of the silken cords that whirl. 
Rings them now with tongues of pearl ; 



[51] 

Rings a melody arising 
In an ecstasy surprising, 
With a joy as if devising 
Some new rapture to repeat, 
Such a wedding day to greet. 

4 

Upon Hfe's canvas when we cast the picture, 

As we reflect 
On all its light and shade, its praise or stricture 

In retrospect, 

We see that each receives in common measure 

Both joy and woe ; 
And you have seen with tears the heart's fond treasure 

In dust laid low. 

Three stalwart sons have rent the fearful curtain 

That hangs like night ; 
Their trackless way, so ruthless and so certain, 

Poils mortal sight. 

And of those scenes within that frail partition 

All speech is dumb ; 
Though all in turn must pass the same division, 

They cannot come. 



[52] 

But though you wait in shadow, broken-hearted, 

Life hath new strands ; 
Light is not lost, though gone, when day departed 

Wakes other lands. 

And now you rest within the quiet gloaming, 

The toil is done. 
While busy thought is ever backward roaming 

To victories won. 

You see again the flush of life's fair morning 

In gladness gleam, 
Or note, perchance, the sweet and tender dawning 

Of love's young dream. 

Or feel the tireless strength which follows after. 

At noontide's blaze, 
Or hear your children in glad shouts of laughter 

Their voices raise. 

Or tread the slope, upon each other leaning. 

Which life's hill hath. 
While in its afternoon serenely gleaning 

The aftermath. 

And now, behold the sunset's brilliant glowing, 

As day-beams hide, 
In golden hues the future day foreshowing 

At eventide. 



[53] 

God grant that day may dawn on fields Elysian 

Where angels wait, 
And life's new canvas spread to holier vision 

Within His gate. 



[54] 



FRANCES E. WILLARD 

A BUD of rare worth graced the Empire State 

In the broad golden West to expand. 
Cheer ! cheer ! for its bloom was a herald great, 

Wafting fragrance to every land. 
With self in the shadow, with Christlike ruth. 

She wrought against drink's fearful woe ; 
All over the world shot her arrow, truth. 

From her typical white ribbon bow. 
Brave soul, with achievement unique, sublime, 
Awaked to new life in its native clime. 



[55] 



THANKSGIVING 

Reigns again dark, bleak November, 
Paling like the dying ember 

Of the slumbering fire at night ; 
Yet how glows her diadem, 
Shining as with royal gem, 

With chrysanthemums so bright. 

Thus she smiles though gloom appears, 
Flower-crowned, she conquers fears. 

Holds of joy a precious hoard. 
While the dear ones, young and old. 
Gathered safe within love's fold. 

Meet around the festive board. 

Hail ! her glad Thanksgiving Day ! 
Ring its joyous bells, that say 

" Welcome — welcome home once more ! " 
Let each greeting teem with joy, 
Childhood dance with many a toy, 

Age its prime again restore. 



[56] 



OUR PHYSICIAN 

Spring's bright garb in gloom is shrouded, 
Sunny skies are changed to clouded, 

Hearts in grief are bending low, — 
Dear physician. 

We no more thy form shall know. 

Thousands on thy skill relying, 
Sick or wounded, faint or dying, 

Found in thee the needed aid, 
Kind physician. 

Constant vigils, tireless, made. 

Acton, filled with deepest yearning, 
To thy memory fondly turning. 

For thy labors long and true. 
Wise physician. 

Fain would give thee honor due. 

All her children, where'er dwelling. 
Hear thy funeral anthems swelling ; 

And, though scattered far and near, 
Loved physician. 

Falls from every eye a tear. 



[57] 

Tears from every eye o'er-flowing, 
Richest tribute, mutely showing 

How thy life was blent with each, 
Fond physician, 

Such a goal how few may reach 1 

Loss to earth, but gain to Heaven, 
Yet thy acts of love, as leaven, 

Rise to permeate the earth, 
Good physician ; 

Endless still thy moral worth. 

Deeds survive though mortals vanish - 
Soul-prints time shall never banish : 

Thine the memory of the just, 
Blessed memory. 

O'er the mandate, " Dust to dust." 

Lost, thy faith in full fruition. 
Gone from sorrow, blest physician, 

We a little longer wait 

Ere we meet thee. 

Just beyond the unseen gate. 



[58] 



HYMN 

DEDICATION 

Father of light, to thee we lift 
Our humble prayer to-day ; 

Deign to illume each sin-torn rift 
Along our darkened way. 

Father of joy, grant us to know 
The bliss this joy imparts. 

When thine approval can bestow 
Its seal on contrite hearts. 

Father of love, give us, we pray, 

This attribute of thine. 
That all our acts from day to day 

May show this source divine. 

These walls we dedicate anew. 
Grant that they long may stand, 

Thy temple filled with worship true, 
A blessing to our land. 



[.59] 



THE EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY 

Eighty years ! how rich the sound, — 
Charming years in all their round. 

Baby years of sportive glee, 
Childhood's artless years so free, 

Merging into years of youth 
Full of grace and love and truth. 

Bloom of summer's dainty rose, 
Softly tinged, her cheeks disclose. 

Baven locks above her brow 

Crowned by Friendship's garlands now. 

Swiftly as the shuttle weaves 

Each fair birthday comes and leaves. 

While we wonder — lo ! we find 
Eighty birthdays left behind. 

Gazing still, behold, we trace 
Lines of care upon her face, — 

Lines of thought and lines of love, 
Far-reaching to its source above. 

Now (the raven locks instead) 
Time has wrought its silver thread 



[60] 

Till a halo bright appears 
Crowning all these eighty years. 

And the lily softly glows 

Pearly white where bloomed the rose. 

Lily — with its heart of gold. 
Type of hers that grows not old. 

May life's sunset's waning light 
Signal years that know no night. 



[61] 



EASTER 

Awake, my soul, to tuneful lays, 
Spring's gladdening hours are here ; 

The winter's blast no longer sways, 
Ice fetters disappear. 

The sleeping flowers from earth arise. 

And hasten to disclose' 
The sunny glory of the skies 

That in each chalice glows. 

Hail, holy light of Easter day ! 

That death's dark night illumes ; 
In beauty, never to decay, 

" The Rose of Sharon " blooms. 



[62] 



ETTA 

Clad in the vestments of charming youth 
Morn's rosy light upon Hp and cheek, 

Beauty, self- garnered from love and truth, 
Wealth, such as these bespeak. 

Thus did we lay her mid evergreen. 

Brightened and incensed with rarest flowers. 

Gilding the spot with a radiant sheen. 
Over this boon of ours. 

Still, 't was a grave, that we fain would hide, 
Silence and darkness its entrance keep ; 

Sorrow and anguish and loss abide 
Over the long, deep sleep. 

Tranquil, she holdeth our griefs dark rose, 

Clasped, with our love, in her dear, dead hand. 

Crimsoned, alas ! by our heart's deep throes, 
jSke cannot understand. 

Thornless to her, though its thorns we know, 
Lost in her dreaming, she knows no choice. 

Deaf is her ear to each wail of woe. 
Hushed is her music's voice. 



[63] 

There must we leave her while Time goes by ; 

Rolled from death's portal the stone Ave '11 see ; 
Blanched in the light of a clearer sky, 

Stainless that rose will be. 

Then will she waken and know and feel 
Griefs symbol lost to her angel hand, 

Heaven's own chime will a sequel peal 
Glorious to understand. 



[64] 



BLUETS 

While the fields are bare and brown, 
April's sun looks smiling down 
On Houstonia's snowy crown, 

Shimmering in the springtime's glow. 
Sentry-like, they stand abreast. 
Wheeled in circles that suggest 
Love in unison — how blest ! — 

While the zephyrs round them blow. 

Skyward spread they o'er the wold. 
Silver salvers starred with gold, 
Fashioned in cerulean mold 

By the hand divinely true ; 
Pilled with pearls of dewy night, 
Flashing gems in morning light, 
Wreathed in gladdening halos bright — 

Fairy phalanx in review ! 



[65] 



THE YOUNG MOTHER 

Pair rose, in morning's jewels bright, 
How came the wasting hand so soon ? 

Each petal fresh, no hint of blight, 
Alas 1 't was plucked ere noon, — 

Plucked from the treasures of its heart. 
The opening rosebuds by its side, 

Blooms of its bloom ; they droop apart ; 
'T was thus this mother died. 

How hard to bow in life's full strength, 
Youth's vestments still about her cast, 

Nor know life's rounded years at length, 
Nor age, its crown, at last ! 

Pall, silent tears 1 her marble hands 
Are folded o'er the pulseless breast ; 

No sigh the deaf ear understands, 
No grief disturbs her rest. 

Yes, bitter tears ! these Nature throws. 
Shower-like, o'er all our earthly ills. 

Her solace, as she kindly shows 
The balm that each distils. 



[66] 

Weep for our lost ! but yet reflect, 

Beyond time's strange, far-reaching bound, 

They, one by one, again collect. 
The treasured lost are found, 

Since, petaled fair, in sunny clime. 
And loveliest of the Orient's pride, 

Where Calvary's mount towers high o'er time. 
The Rose of Sharon died. 



[67] 



THE FALLING STAR 

Bright orbs that stud the evening sky, 
And fix my wondering gaze, 

Grand in their orbits fixed on high 
Encircling trackless ways. 

And as I gaze through depths afar, 

Lo ! darting out of place, 
A flash of light — a " falling star," 

Sinks low in viewless space. 

So gems of mind and genius rare 
That well might light a world, 

All dazzled by temptation's glare. 
Into the depths are hurled. 



[68] 



MARCH 

Though winter waits reluctant 
To yield the rule to March, 
The sun with step exultant 

Walks high through heaven's arch 
Till day and night 
Bring new delight 
By equal hours in March. 

What though the storm-king reigning 

Hide sun and moon and stars, 
The war-god's scepter gaining 
For this namesake of Mars ? 
Through all his wiles 
The high sun smiles, 
And soon his sway debars. 

Now wake the pussy-willows, 

And from each warm, brown nest 
They shake their downy pillows 
Close to the pool's white breast. 
And laugh to see 
The rills, set free. 
Leap from their ice-bound crest. 



[69] 



The bluebird in his wanderings 

Somehow these changes learns, 
To music sets his ponderings, 
And on swift wing returns, 
And warbles sweet, 
New songs to greet 
Once more his loved sojourns. 

At rest in winter's rigor. 

The life-tide wends its way, 
Ascending with new vigor 

Up through the branches gray. 
From roots below 
'Neath melting snow, 
Predicting leaves of May. 

The violet, still sleeping. 

Half wakes and dreams anew 
Of beauties she is keeping, 
Perfumed for April's view. 
Ah ! March, with thee 
New hope we see. 
Enriched by promise true. 



[70] 



HELEN 

Gone past recall into the vast beyond, 

Her bark has vanished from Time's fitful stream. 
Its snowy sails a clearer white have donned ; 

Its wake a changeless gleam. 

In life's high noon the helmsman, pale and fleet, 
To unknown waters bore her from our sight. 

While the crowned year with harvest fruits complete 
Was bathed in golden light. 

Weeping upon the silent strand we gaze 

Across those untried depths, in anguish sore. 

Alas ! we but discern the distant haze 
That veils the mystic shore. 

We cannot see within her new abode, 
Apart from anxious care or earthly ill ; 

Above the realms where moth and rust corrode, 
Can she behold us still ? 

Her books remain, with all their garnered lore, 
Ranged side by side, as in the glad past days ; 

Rare crystals, rocks and shells, a precious store 
Her cabinet displays. 



[71] 

For she was fain — a scholar with rare mind — 
To study Nature's laws in earth and sky ; 

What weightier truths does her freed spirit find 
In boundless realms on high ? 

We question, but no answer comes to take 

The longing from our hearts, the deep lament ; 

No voice, no gesture, and no sign to break 
The silence, when she went. 

And yet we know, when time's bourne disappears, 
This silence may be vocal with sweet sound 

Caught from the music of celestial spheres 
That chime their endless round. 



[72] 

PUSSY-WILLOWS 

Inwrapped in robes of shining brown, 
And pillowed on the softest down, 
Beneath stern winter's dismal frown, 
Serene they sleep, 
Though round them creep 
The snowy crystals, heap on heap. 

Erect and tall, each spiked raceme ; 
Its myriad sleepers all in dream 
Beside a lakelet or a stream, 
Whose waters cool. 
In limpid pool 
Their mirror make, as spring has rule. 

Glad heralds fair ! the first deep sigh 
Of March winds as they hasten by. 
They hear and watch with eager eye, 

In silken dress. 

With glossy tress. 
The ice-bands break as on they press. 

They come, fond messengers of spring. 
The first of Flora's blooms to bring. 
And by this first fresh offering 
They bring good cheer 
When all is drear, 
So lead her van through all the year. 



[73] 



A MEMORIAL TRIBUTE^ 

Plowers have their time to bloom 

And shed their rich perfume 
Along their way — then droop 'mid life's deep flush ; 

The singing bird takes wing 

To seek some joyous spring, 
When autumn winds its blithesome gladness hush. 

Man hath his gala day, 

Eair childhood's happy play. 
The gay, the bright, exulting time of youth ; 

And manhood's strength supreme. 

With scarce a fitful dream, 
Revealing age's unsought time of ruth. 

We knew that four-score years, 

Their joys and hopes and fears, 
Had pressed upon him with their weight untold ; 

His raven locks so white, 

Agleam with silvery light, 
But yet, ah ! yet, we did not think him old. 

His form so lithe and straight, 
With boyhood's sprightly gait, 

nSlO. Dea. Enoch Hall. 1893. 



[74] 

Why should we note the inroads time might show? 

With firm, undaunted will, 

A heart so youthful still, 
We did not think it time for him to go. 

The earthly way he trod, 

A servant blessed of God, 
Since Godward tended his supreme desire, 

With fervent faith above 

He sought redeeming love. 
And brightly burning kept his altar's fire. 

He saw in ardent youth 

The great, eternal truth 
That emanates from Heaven's illumined cross ; 

He fain would share it then 

With all his fellowmen, 
This wealth of soul, with which should be no dross, 

The rose of Sharon pressed 

Abloom upon his breast, 
Sent fragrance through a life that sought but right. 

Until, entranced, he stood 

Viewing eternal good 
On Pizgah's top — and vanished from our sight. 



[75] 



HIGHER AND HIGHER 

The doors of death unlock, 

My summons comes yet nigher, 

But, resting on the Rock, 

I 'm getting higher and higher. 

The hours of Time's old clock 

No longer I require ; 
I 'm resting on the Rock, 

Ascending higher and higher. 

Loved friends, a numerous flock, 
Weep not though I retire ; 

Eor, happy on the Rock, 

I see bright paths up higher. 

The dark floods give no shock, 
Though flowing round me nigher, 

Por, resting on the Rock, 

I 'm rising higher and higher. 

Heaven hears my humble knock, 

I hear the golden lyre, 
As, clinging to the Rock, 

I mount to glories higher. 



[76] 



THE SHADBUSH 

Behold the clustering shadbush, 

Along the swollen streams, 
Unfold, with cheering fragrance. 

Its sweet, close, white racemes. 
Alone in vernal freshness, 

Despite surrounding gloom, 
It spreads o'er glen and meadow 

Its early, brightening bloom. 

And when, like April snowfiakes, 

Its petals, fading, lie. 
Hark ! a wild strain of music, 

A bright flash in the sky, 
And lo ! the golden robin 

Just back again we see, 
Upon his home-bough swinging, 

High in his loved elm tree. 

How did he catch the fragrance. 

Of this first odorous spray ? 
Lo ! how both bird and blossom 

The spring's first call obey. 
Now ope the cymes of apple, 

Of cherry, pear, and plum. 
To greet these corymbed blossoms 

He never fails to come. 



[77] 



PINES OF THE OLD 
HOMESTEAD 

The pines, monarchal pines, bowed low, 
Before the woodman's axe they fell, — 

Tall pines, that stood long years ago, 
Young sentinels in lonely dell. 

They caught the zephyrs in their shade 

That sang their soft ancestral lay, 
Where birds their early matins made, 

High perched, in joy, at break of day. 

My father heard their silvery note 
In time of joy when hope beat high ; 

And, too, their sighs that moaning float 
So sadly when that joy flits by. 

Such music tuned to heavenly strings, 
Moves, ebbs, and flows whate'er betide. 

Hark ! how their plaintive requiem rings 
In mournful chords when father died. 

My happy haunt in childhood's hour. 

When 'neath their emerald boughs I played ; 

And, later, my elysian bower 

When love's young dream its charm portrayed. 



[78] 

The music of my marriage bell 

They phonographed for future years ; 

Resounding still along that dell 
The laughter of my child appears. 

pines ! tho' gone like all of earth, 
Not lost your precious, constant chime, 

Which echoes on in grief or mirth. 
Despite the wrecking change of time. 



[79] 
THE CITIZENS' LIBRARY 

Read at its Sixth Annual Banquet, November, 1889. 

Little by little the mountain rill 
Gathers its force for the busy mill. 

Little by little time's hourglass stands 
Marking the ages with golden sands. 

From the silkworm's reel is a thread unwound, 
That weaves a web the world around. 

Softly and cheerily the south wind blows, 
Yet it dislodges the mountain snows. 

Thus the sunbeams greet the smiling plain. 
And are treasured up in the waving grain. 

So thought, though hidden and silent, ere long. 
If God-ward led, may be grand and strong 

In deeds enacted in life's broad van, 
With noble device for th' advance of man ; 

For love to God, with its train of good. 
Is love to man as a brotherhood. 

Now a thought came down in years agone 
To Dr. Blanchard, and urging on. 



[80] 

Soon a library stood as his meed of praise, 
And it crowns the old Lyceum days. 

And half a decade since there came 
An offering free in the people's name, 

Till around that nucleus in joy we trace 
Hundreds of volumes that now have place. 

But hark ! a whisper falls low on the ear, 
Which tells of an edifice soon to appear, 

A library grand (even now 'tis begun), 
A gift to the town, from Acton's own son, 

That will open a way for learning to gleam 
On the darkest path, with its latest beam ; 

With its Hall Memorial, where record ('t is said) 
Will be made of our soldiers, our brave, loyal dead. 

All hail to the town that can claim such a child ! 
All praise to the donor, to William A. Wilde. 

Ah ! Heaven-born thought in the human breast. 
When in deed like this it is found expressed ; 

With self in shadow, and others' weal, 
The highest desire that the soul can feel. 

A thought like this will unbounded be. 
Like pebble-waves on a tranquil sea, 



[81] 

Outward and onward in perfect round, 
Circle on circle, o'er depths profound. 

And thus over depths of darkness or wrong, 
Ring within ring will it glide along ; 

With the last circuit, ah ! what hand can trace 
The widened expanse it may embrace, 

'Xeath the smile of Him with its radiant gleam, 
Whose healing robe was the robe without seam. 

In the conflict of ages, what stands in review. 

Save the monument raised to the great and the true ? 



[82] 



ACTON'S MEMORIAL LIBRARY 

At its Dedication, May 24, 1890. 

Behold a landscape, rich with verdant mead, 
And stately forest, where the wild flocks feed ; 
Sweet songs of birds float on the listening air; 
Though darksome glen conceals the wild beast's 

lair; 
The wooded hills salute the fragrant breeze, 
Whose gentle slopes descend to fertile leas ; 
The ponds, that glisten with a silvery hue, 
On whose broad surface skims the light canoe ; 
The limpid streams, that in the sunshine dance. 
Though near and far the deadly arrows glance — 
Here hunts the Red Man, held in savage bond, 
Whose sachem lives near Medford's Mystic Pond. 
This fair domain by this rude chief is ruled. 
Its lands untilled, its growing youth unschooled. 
At length, the Pale Pace, by his honest bid, 
A purchase made of broad Musketaquid — 
Pair Concord now — and (so the record stands) 
This realm was known as Concord's " Grazing 

Lands." 
Now barns give shelter from the beasts of prey. 
And herdsmen guard their herds from day to 

day. 



[83] 

A dwelling soon each peaceful yeoman gains ; 

Thus homes arise to cheer the lonely plains. 

But hark ! a murmur rises : " Church/' they said, 

"Is much too far from where we toil for bread." 

And from this burden, now, they seek redress. 

See ! rising in this recent wilderness 

A meeting-house upon the central " knoll," 

The pride and joy of each devoted soul ! 

Without such temple — this was the decree — 

No town could be incorporate and free. 

Blest wisdom of the Fathers ! thus to empower 

The embryo towns with such a constant dower. 

And next the church, the common school they place, 

True leaders of a strong, free, noble race. 

Lord Acton (so the best traditions tell), 

Prom England, offered this new town a bell 

Por its new meeting-house, and 't is believed 

'T was lost, if sent — at least, 't was not received. 

Yet, still, due cause for gratitude the same. 

And hence the town of Acton takes its name. 

The busy plowshare seeks the fertile fields, 

And each a well requited harvest yields ; 

Pruit, flower, and grain, and flocks and herds 

conspire. 
With sturdy toil, to meet the heart's desire. 
When lo ! there comes across the distant main 
A rumbling echo of their king's disdain. 



[84] 

War comes apace ; begirt with freedom start 
True men from field and shop and village mart, 
To quell the king's invaders, ruthless then. 
First in the front, see ! Acton's " minutemen," — 
There ! — at the old North Bridge, each undis- 
mayed, 
As Davis said, — "I 've not a man afraid ! " 
But Davis brave, vi^ith youthful Hosmer, falls ; 
The red-coats scatter at the farmers' balls ; 
In glad retreat, to Gage they hasten back, 
The conquering soldiers fiercely on their track ; 
Young Hayward falls, though novr the fight is 

won ; 
Poe fires at foe, — both die — at Lexington. 
" I do not grieve," he gasps, as life goes out, 
" Since we our country's foe have put to rout ; 
Tell mother this, — and her so dear to me, — 
Farewell, God helping, we shall yet be free." 
Blest town ! whose record such high valor owns. 
As shown by yonder monumental stones, — 
The granite shaft, reared by a grateful State, 
Through Woodbury's efforts, strong, impassioned, 

great. 
List ! how his voice thrills legislative halls, 
Till Opposition, baffled, quails and falls ; 
Such eloquence new patriotism stirs. 
And lo ! yon pile the Commonwealth confers. 



[85] 

Broad was his work, our statesman, preacher, sage, — 

His be an honored name from age to age ! 

To-day we come to crown with laurel wreath 

The brow of him whose generous deeds bequeath 

Not towering shaft to laud the dead alone. 

But for the living, too, his gift is shown. 

Who are these dead ? They are the loyal dead. 

Who in the late Bebelhon freely bled. 

The nation's prime^ o'erwhelmed by darkest gloom, 

'Neath clouds of civil conflict met their doom ; 

Young husband, father, weeping mother's boy, 

Priend, lover, sister's pride, and father's joy, — 

These bravely falling, where the old flag waved. 

Redeemed a race, the grand old Union saved. 

Some still survive ; some, who through shot and shell 

Closed up the ranks when bleeding comrades fell. 

To self oblivious, serving but one thought, — 

On ! on ! to victory, though it be blood-bought. 

And these are they who bear spring's fairest blooms, 

Each May, to decorate those comrades' tombs ; 

These crowned with bays the country's pride to-day, 

While Pity weeps for those who wore the Gray. 

Behold that April day, when Sumter's shot 

Strikes through the North, through mansion and 

through cot. 
The Massachusetts Sixth (that naught retards) 
Upstarts, and with it, Acton's " Davis Guards." 



[ 86 ] 

See the first blood that flows in Baltimore ! 

The mob upon them, — civil war before ! 

The " Davis Guards," with Tuttle at their head ; 

" Decision ? — there 's but one, I go/' — he said, 

When flashed at eve the summons from the wire ; 

Loud ring the bells ! How ease and rest retire ! 

Drear is the night, but lo ! the morrow's sun 

Beholds them all depart for Washington, 

The Capital, in need of strong defense. 

And Acton, tearful, cheers them on from hence, 

Por these, yon Hall Memorial stands to-day, 

Silent proclaimer of their worth for aye. 

And for the other living, — those not lost. 

Although to them is earth's last boundary crossed ; 

And yet, for busy, universal life. 

That moves and ebbs, with strange mutations 

rife. 
That mystic, shimmering spark of heavenly gleam, 
Forever flashing on Time's ceaseless stream ; 
Glad emanation from that mind divine, 
Maker of all worlds, source of all design. 
It stands to bless this life, and bring to view 
The lore of ancient life to charm the new. 
Thus aeons past with future ages blend. 
In heights of knowledge grander to ascend. 
Hail, welcome light ! the clear and constant light 
This beacon sheds, whose rays, serenely bright. 



[87] 

Will scatter darkness from its realm away, 
And bring to culture a more perfect day. 
The Wilde Memorial Libr'y ! he who gives 
This great munificence forever lives, 
Not only in the hearts of those who read. 
But as inspirer of each generous deed 
That springs therefrom ; as if himself inwrought 
In broad humanity's sublimest thought. 
Who builds for mind, to raise its purpose high, 
Rears monumental fame that cannot die. 
Who serves not self, but fellow mortals, best. 
Will welcome happiness, a constant guest ; 
Since he who gives receives in open heart 
A largess grand, of Heaven's own wealth a part. 
And, as the immortal spheres in imion sing, 
Earth, in glad echo, sweet refrain shall bring, 
As love triumphant, broadening heart and mind, 
In perfect brotherhood links all mankind. 



[88] 
BEAUTIFUL EIGHTY-THREE 

1806 - 1890. 

MOTHER, loved and lost, yet loved the more 

As Death's dark portals opened wide for thee, 
Just as thy years were reaching eighty-four, 
Beautiful eighty-three ! 

Such busy years of love and work and joy, 

Replete with thy soul's sunshine, fair to see. 
And friendship changeless, dimmed with no alloy. 
Beautiful eighty-three. 

The red rose bloomed upon thy cheek in youth ; 

It lingered still the charm of age to be ; 
Thy sprightly age, like youth renewed, forsooth. 
Beautiful eighty-three. 

In childhood's time, how skilled those hands of thine 

To weave, to work, to play, in happy glee. 
Weaving nine yards the day thy age was nine. 
Beautiful eighty-three ! 

Those same dear hands, throughout thy long sweet 
life. 
Tireless in others' aid were found to be ; 
Useful to all, — this was their daily strife, — 
Beautiful eighty-three. 



[89] 

By nature gifted with the love of books ; 

The poet's numbers often learned by thee ; 
A sweet contentment ruled in all thy looks, 
Beautiful eighty-three. 

Thy children eight enjoyed thy wealth of love. 

Alas ! the cruel grave hid five from thee, 
And husband; yet thy trust was fixed above, 
Beautiful eighty-three. 

High on the Rock thy feet securely placed, 

Immanuel's Rock, that breasts the roughest sea, 
His peace, in weal or ill, thy soul embraced. 
Beautiful eighty-three. 

And so the end was peace, serene, sublime ; 

Out through the darkness gleamed the jasper sea, 
While Bethlehem's star led to its hallowed clime. 
Beautiful eighty-three. 

We wrung our hands in anguish sore, and cried, 
" dearest heart, we cannot part with thee ! " 
But still we know, thou, mother, " hast not died " — 
Thy " years have ceased to be." 



[90] 

LIFE'S EXPERIENCE. 

Deep the agony we know. 
Peace turned suddenly to woe, 
When is heard the dreaded foe 

Rapping at our very dwelling ; 
Icy fingers 
Laid upon the heart so true ; 
Fond eyes closing to earth's view; 
Love's voice lost in long adieu ; 

Ah ! such anguish, deeply swelhng, 
How it lingers ! 

Till the very skies are black 
And the reins of life grow slack, 
As the heart turns darkly back, 

So replete with grief unhidden. 
What shall stay us ? 
Such is life ! 't is Nature's mood ; 
Good meets ill and ill the good. 
Weep ! yet be it understood 

Light from darkness sprang when bidden, 
Out of chaos. 

Faint not then amid earth's strife. 
Though with seeming ill 't is rife ; 
Out of this chaotic life 
Who shall tell the grand unfolding ? 
Some fair dawning, 



[91] 

t 

When the mandate order brings 
Out of all created things, 
And the light eternal springs ! 
Lo 1 the ecstasy, beholding 

Life's new morning. 



NOTES 



[95] 



NOTES 

The three poems, '' Mother," "Under the Elms," and 
"Eight Decades," were written for the celebration of the 
eightieth birthday, on June 1, 1886, of Mrs. John Hap- 
good (Mary Ann Hosmer), mother of the author. "Mother " 
was read by her daughter. " Under the Elms " was spoken 
by her little granddaughter, Marion, and " Eight Decades " 
by her older grandson, Frederick, holding in his hand a 
bouquet of eight flowers for presentation to her, — one, 
a rosebud partially blown representing the first decade, a rose 
for the second or bridal decade, — each decade being repre- 
sented by a flower. 

" The Young Soldier." Nathan Davis Hosmer, member of 
the Eorty-fifth Massachusetts Eegiment, in Newbern, N. C, 
in the late Civil War, son of Nathan and Eebecca Haynes 
Hosmer of Framingham, Mass. 

" Little Annie's reply." Annie was the little daughter of 
Sewall Towne of Topsfield, Mass., four years old. 

" Deacon James Madison Brown." Eead at his memorial 
service in "West Acton. 

" The Trio." The author's father, brother David, and Dr. 
Harris Cowdrey. 

" Eev. Isaac Case Knowlton, D.D." Eead at his memorial 
service in West Acton, in the church where he was pastor 
seventeen years. 

" The Wedding Celebration." Tenth marriage anniversary 
of Eev. and Mrs. Ephraim Hapgood (Catherine H. Hadley), 
April 15, 1885. He was then pastor in South Hanson, Mass. 



[96] 

The older brother alluded to was David W. Hapgood, who 
went to California at the age of nineteen, became a miner with 
a good degree of success; afterwards was editor of " Snow's 
Pathfinder Eailway Guide/^ in Boston. He died in 1869 in 
Bricksburg, N. J., where he had gone for his health. 

" Sister, I Must Go.-*' Written upon the occasion of the 
enlistment, in the late Civil War, of the author's brother, 
Henry Hapgood, member of Company E, Sixth Eegiment, 
Massachusetts Volunteer Militia, whose young life at twenty- 
one years of age was sacrificed for his country. Mustered 
into the United States service Aug. 31, 1863. 

" Song in Death.'' " It is I, be not afraid," was sung 
most touchingly by Henry Hapgood when at the point of 
death. He died Nov. 25, 1863. 

" Welcome to the Massachusetts Sixth." Written in 
June, 1863. 

^^Elma." Elma G., daughter of Charles Bradley and 
Marietta Wetherbee Stone. Eead by the author at Elma's 
memorial service, Aug. 24, 1890. 

^'^The Golden Wedding." This poem was read by the 
author at the celebration of the fiftieth marriage anniversary 
of Deacon Enoch and Emeline Hosmer Hall, April 27, 
1887. 

The poem, "A Memorial Tribute" (page 73), was read at 
Deacon Hall's memorial service in the winter of 1893. 

" Hymn — Ordination," page 38, was sung at the ordi- 
nation of Eev. E. Isidore Lindh, at West Acton, Mass., Sept. 
7, 1893. 

'' Woman's Work." Eead by the author at the Woman's 
Missionary convention (Home and Foreign Missions, Baptist) 
at Leominster, Nov. 11, 1896 ; at the Woman's Board of 



[97] 

Missions (Congregational), at Ayer, Sept. 22, 1897, and at 
the annual convention of the Middlesex County Woman's 
Christian Temperance Union at Melrose, Sept. 23, 1897. 

" Sixty Years/' Read by the author at the celebration of 
the sixtieth wedding anniversary of Bradley and Clarissa 
Hosmer Stone by the citizens of West Acton, Mass., on Sept. 
18, 1888, a "surprise"" gathering in honor of the venerable 
couple. 

"Frances E. Willard,'' founder of the World's Christian 
Temperance Union, — the world^s White Eibbon leader. 

" Our Physician." Dr. Harris Cowdrey, who died May 6, 
1875. A physician in Acton many years. 

" Hymn — Dedication." Sung at the rededication of the 
Baptist Church, West Acton, Mass., Sept. 1, 1898. 

" The Eightieth Birthday." Written for the celebration of 
the eightieth birthday of Mrs. Emily Hall Currier, at her 
home in Pelham, N. H., on March 29, 1886. 

" Etta." Etta Roxanna Hall, daughter of Delette Haynes 
and Susie Wetherbee Hall, died March 23, 1892, aged six- 
teen years. Read by the author at Etta's memorial service. 

" Bluets." Houstonia cserulea, dedicated to Dr. Houston, 
an English botanist, in the days of Linnaeus. 

"The Young Mother." Mrs. Frances A. Stone, wife of 
Edwin Stone, born 1853. Died 1891. Among the floral 
tributes at her funeral was a vase containing a full blown 
rose, broken at the stem, and four rosebuds, emblems of the 
mother and four children. Poem was read by the author at 
Mrs. Stone's memorial service. 

"Helen." Helen E. Cowdrey-Little, born 1840; died 
1886. Daughter of Dr. Harris Cowdrey of Acton, and wife 
of Dr. Charles Little, both of whom she survived. 



[98] 

" Higher and Higher/' Words by Mrs. Marietta E. Hall- 
White when near death in response to her father's inquiry, — 
" Are you resting on the Eock ? '* " Yes, father, and I 'm 
getting higher and higher/' 

" The Shadbush/' (Amelanchier Canadensis.) So named 
from the fact that this early shrub of spring put forth its 
sweet blossoms just as the shad left the sea to follow up the 
streams. 

'^ Acton's Memorial Library." Read by the author, on 
May 24, 1890, at the Dedicatory Services of the Memorial 
Library Building, Library and Soldiers' tablets, given to the 
town of Acton by the late Hon. Wm. A. Wilde of Maiden. 

Among the exercises was the address of welcome by the 
President of the Day, Frederick Gushing Nash, Esq. 

The oration was given by Hon. John D. Long (Ex- 
Governor of Massachusetts), followed by this dedicatory poem, 
and next by the address of His Excellency, John Q. A. 
Brackett, Governor of Massachusetts. 

"Beautiful Eighty-three." Mrs. Mary Ann (Hosmer) 
Hapgood, mother of the author, was born June 1, 1806, 
died April 13, 1890. The day she was nine years old, 
with her own little hands, sitting at the old-time family loom, 
she wove nine yards of fine cotton cloth, her sister, Clarissa 
Hosmer, two years older, winding the bobbins for her. This 
fact we have from that sister. 

The author of this book was bom in Eitchburg, Mass., and 
was named Clarissa Hosmer Hapgood, but was known as 
Clara from childhood. 



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